Fine line tattoo of a small arrow in white ink on the inner wrist and forearm, with the hand open above it.

Fine line arrow on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small arrow is tattooed in fine, thin linework on the inner wrist, pointing down the forearm towards the elbow. The fletching and arrowhead are outlined in the same delicate lines, with no shading. The ink appears pale or white against the skin, and the arm is photographed against a wooden floor and purple leggings.

Fine line Forearm Arrow

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The gull has been at the bait box again, and you chase it off the quay with a fish tray, shouting into the wind while Mrs Penhallow pretends not to laugh from her front step. Mornings in Porthkennick are for doing things properly, so you do not look at the slipway where the Marigold was tied up last winter, and you do not think about the letter folded in your coat pocket that says the sale is final.

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Your uncle Tom taught you to fletch when you were nine, on the bench in the net loft, with feathers pulled from the grey goose that lived under the pier. He said an arrow is only as true as the feathers you lay on it, and that a straight shot takes a steady hand and a bit of forgiveness for the wind. You bought the fine brush and the pot of pale paint for the cabin roof last spring, but it was the bench you could never bring yourself to sell.

The man from the auction comes at eleven with his clipboard and his polite cough. You walk him through the loft, past the chart table and the rack of cedar shafts, and you show him the arrow you scratched into the beam the summer you were ten. It points out through the open door, towards the harbour mouth. He asks why it faces the sea and not the lane. You tell him it points back the way you came, and that Porthkennick has never needed any other direction.

When he has gone, you sit on the bench and lay the last feathers in order, one by one, the way Tom showed you. Then you draw the string, let the wind settle, and loose the arrow through the loft door. It climbs over the moorings, hangs for a moment above the buoy, and drops into the water beyond it. You watch the ripples until they are gone, and you do not go after it.